Into your mind
by Whimsical Omelettes
Summary: I got drunk, and I got played. The next day at school, I meet that culprit.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Prince of Tennis. Do you want me to prove it?

* * *

The alcohol rushes into my head, making me feel dizzy and tipsy. My vision blurs around the edges, growing fuzzy and annoyingly white. I feel a desperate urge to throw up, but I stubbornly hold the sickness in, and with eyes darting around to look for a washroom, I clap a hand over my mouth. This is not good.

The ground beneath me seems to be shaking and rumbling. That only hastens the speed of the vomit travelling up towards my mouth. I knew it was wrong to walk into this… carnival. From the first step I took, I've had a bad feeling about this. The pavement was spotless, the stalls' hawkers were too friendly, and it wasn't even very noisy, unlike most carnivals I've been to on school trips before. It was too… perfect. Nothing is perfect in this world, that much I know, but this carnival is as perfect as it could be. The owner must be a person with connections and fame.

Well, if he has connections and fame, wouldn't he build a washroom around here?! I cursed the unknown person.

I heard screams somewhere at the front. People saying, "I'm gonna die… I'm gonna die… I'm too young to die…" The tremors continued, and I almost fell over, grasping at the table for support. Or rather, the table cloth. The scrumptious-looking food that had beckoned me before with their aroma and color, crashed to the ground. Glass plates, undoubtedly expensive and intricately woven with articulate designs, smashed into a thousand pieces. But the sound of glass breaking did not register in my temporarily drugged-up brain. My sense of hearing has diminished. Echoes of different sounds seemed to be sounding through an invisible but thick film, muted and flat. I felt footsteps approaching me, but I had no energy to raise my head up.

To my surprise but relief, warm and big hands grip my forearms, and heft me to my feet with ease. The hands are callused and rough, but I feel strangely protected… even if I know a little karate moves. My vision is still blurry, but I see silver hair and… blue eyes? Green? Those eyes bore into mine, but I don't respond, and comply by staring at the person dumbly. A guy, I suppose.

The trembling stops suddenly. My eyes adjust themselves, and I fine-focus on the lens, finally glimpsing a… wow. My mouth shapes into an 'O'. I see a God. A Holy God with silver hair and turbulent turquoise eyes that glimmer with good humor and… a hint of wickedness? The God is wearing a school uniform, and the tag reads, 'Rikkaidai Junior High'. A teenage God, even better. He is a few inches taller than me, which gains him more points. I am about to enroll at that school, and man, would I need a hot tour guide to show me around…

Did I do something to make Karma happy? I don't believe in fate, but karma. Karma is giving me a huge discount today, because I don't feel nauseous now.

The God opens his mouth to speak. "You'd do perfectly," He sounds hurried and anxious, and He swivels His head around, as if he is looking for someone. Then, surprises of surprises, He lowers His lips to my ear. "Please bear with me a little while, lass." He whispers. His hands tighten around my forearms, just short of bruising me.

Well, that 'lass' had cut through my drugged-up mind in an instant. What guy even refers to girls as lasses now? The magic of the moment abruptly vanishes, and I find myself growing repellent of his hands touching me. The 'H' demotes to a small letter 'h' now. The God now sounds like any other teenage playboy. Wait. Playboy? Rikkai?

Without further ado, and robbing me of my ability to speak coherently, he swoops down and meshes our lips together.

What the f***?!

Playboys do this. I hate playboys. This playboy is harassing me, wasn't he? My face heats up and I ball my hands into tight fists, pounding them on his chest indignantly. He doesn't even budge. If time has to permit, and if he lengthens this so-called make out, I'd knee his groin gladly. I adamantly refuse to part my lips, denying him entry. Though he doesn't seem to want entry.

I hear footsteps. Uh-oh. If someone catches us together like this…

I try harder to push him away, but his body seems to be made of steel. Alright, here goes nothing-!

My knee shoots up and catches him squarely on his sensitive area. I can't even describe this.

At the same time, I hear a gasp. I wrench my face away from his with one final drag, and spots another teenage girl eyeballing us, her features arranges into a contorted mask. She has heavy make-up on, and wears a very short skirt, so short I can see her underwear if she moves. My face reddens when the playboy's lips collides on my jaw line.

The distraught-looking girl speaks up.

"Masaharu-chan, please… don't tell me…" She trails off, her eyes watering slightly at the edges. Ew. That washes her make-up off in a very much undignified manner. I pray silently her mascara won't smudge.

The girl can't seem to stand her supposed boyfriend entangling with another girl, and without waiting for a reply, she runs off, sobs racking her slender frame.

The drama. Dun-dun-dun.

The guy beside me is still and quiet all this time. Oh yeah, I destroyed his groin. I won't be surprised if I also destroyed his chances of sexual reproduction. Not that he really needs it, since he is a playboy. I notice his hands trembling.

"What… did… you… do… that… for?!" He grounds out each word, his hands clutching at the sensitive area. His eyes are in slits, and I am happy to see his face sweating profusely. I'm not a sadist, but this person deserves it.

I award him with a satisfied smile. "For an asshole who simply snogs girls in public. I hate PDA's, that much you should've known before you pounced on me." My knee throbs a little.

"You… see… I… had… a… reason… for that!"

"Not without consulting me you don't. Good day." I walk away, waving my hand. He can reach the hospital himself.

"Oh yeah…" I stop. When someone says something, I make a point to listen. "You can't leave here yet."

Is this guy stopping me? Huh. "And why not?" I demand, turning to face him. He is still sweating, but the painful look in his eyes is gone.

"We're in the air now."

"Ha-ha. That's not even funny." I scoff, shaking my head and wondering if he really needs me to bring him to an asylum.

He smiles, showing white and even teeth. "Look outside if you don't believe me." He gestures towards the windows, one hand still covering the private area.

Narrowing my eyes at his outrageous suggestion, I go to the window anyway. And what greets me was…

…the entire city of Tokyo. Lights of all colors twinkle below this carnival, with the Tokyo Tower being the most magnificent of them all. Red, blue, yellow, beige… everything. I blink and rub my eyes in disbelief. Big buildings, dark and ominous, loom just underneath the belly of this… carnival, threatening to graze it. My knees become mush. The dizzy sensation ricochets straight away into my brain. I place a damp palm against my forehead, hoping that my fear of heights will not interfere now. Not in front of this playboy. We are in a sort-of gigantic airplane. We are flying over Tokyo. Where are we going?

I run back to the guy, and grasp his collars tightly, becoming furious. "Where the hell are we going?" I voice the question in my mind.

He stalls for a bit, smirking at my helpless state. "Nowhere I know. If you want to, you'd better go ask the head honcho of this company." His hands are firm as he extracts my hands away. "But Atobe Keigo most probably would not let anybody go home now. You should've left when you had the chance, not drowning yourself in alcohol." A distasteful expression surfaces, marring his face. I feel like slapping him. I don't drink alcohol of my own accord. Someone forced me to…

"Mind your own business. Tell me where that Atobe guy is!" I literally shriek in his face. He winces and covers his ears, but I don't care.

"…How do I know you won't punch him when you see him? He's not really my friend, but I don't want him hospitalized because of me," The playboy brushes some dust off his clothes. "And I don't want him to stop throwing wild parties like these, since they're so fun and I get to meet more girls."

It's almost my life's work to SCORN despicable playboys like him. But I don't hold campaigns for it. No way.

"You can get laid later. Now TELL ME!" I pause. "I won't hit him. I swear." It's my personal policy to not break promises. I will make an effort to remain calm when I see the Atobe guy. It might be hard, but I try. The playboy rubs his chin slowly, probably gauging my murderous expression and seeing if I really mean my promise. I smother a snort, and make a cross with my finger on my heart.

"Happy now?" I demand sarcastically. The playboy snorts, but points to the door that leads out of this room. Great. I can't wait to be rid of him. I dart off without a backward glance, and the door swings shut behind me with finality. I absently bring a finger to my mouth, and am surprised when I feel it swelling slightly. My face brightens up like flames; my first kiss, gone like that. I swear, when I see that guy again, I'll bring my fist deep into his stomach…

The door, it turns out, leads to a balcony of sorts, instead of a narrow, lit pathway I've come across earlier. The whole city of Tokyo, unlike before when I saw it through framed glass panes, are right beneath my feet. Tell you what: the floors of the balcony are made of TRANSPARENT glass. Goddamn it, how unlucky can I get?! I'm afraid of heights. I mean, this freakin' flying city is hovering about, I don't know, a thousand feet above ground, and the company had the nerve to build a transparent-floored balcony?! What stupid idiot does that?

Oh no. My body starts contracting. I can't breathe. All the alcohol I've consumed before seem to rush into my head with full force, making me dizzy and jittery. The sight of twinkling lights below me doesn't help the dire situation much. I feel like vomiting, and my first impulse would be to put my head over the railings and vomit all I want, except I'm afraid of heights. This is not good. A chilly breeze blows by, strong enough to make me stumble forward. My limbs are stiffening. I feel a swooping pressure under my abdomen, and if this torture goes on, I am seriously going to-

I can't very well scream for help. I mean, how undignified can a girl be? A girl who is afraid of heights, I suppose. To hell with pride. I need help right now.

"Hey! Is anybody out there?" I call out half-heartedly. A wind sweeps by, and carries my voice away. Dread starts stirring up within me. Nausea is choking me. I really, really…

…am going to barf right now.

Then, like sunlight streaming through the clouds, like a flower welcoming droplets of rain, like a kid running as he sees a playground up front… I am forcibly dragged back indoors. The air-conditioned cool air, not chilly as before, is music to my lungs… or did they use it in ears? Whatever, at least I'm alright. I inhale big gusts of air, and feel myself calming down again. I look up to thank my savior, only to see a mockingly disapproving expression on a familiar face. A face I'd gladly punch now. The playboy, as sadistic as he could possibly be, is smiling.

"Like the view? Of course, you can go outside and take another longer look," He drawls, reaching past me to open the door. In a rare state of panic, I clutch at his hand firmly, successfully earning a wince.

My gaze are dagger-like as I push him against the wall, and crumple my fingers in tight, fatal fist. His eyes widen as he looks on. One side of my mouth pulls up, and I let a small, "humph" escape before swinging my fist towards his flat abdomen. I can positively feel the organs in his stomach raving in fear and apprehension.

A white and smooth hand intervenes suddenly, catching my fist and gripping it tight.

My eyes travel up a school uniform, a sharp chin, and cool, steely grey eyes bore into mine.

* * *

**Author's Note: I couldn't help it… update might be longer, though, since I have one story to concentrate on. **


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nope. Does not own PoT or any of its canon characters. But I call dibs on the unnamed heroine.

* * *

I am caught off guard at the firm grip he has on my wrist, but I shake it off roughly, careful to plaster on a mask of disgust and wiping where he gripped me just now. His stark grey eyes narrow, and I smile inwardly. This guy needs someone to wear down his high-handed composure. Besides, he still owed me some back at the flower store…

"Kaeda-san." My name sounds like a bad aftertaste as it travels out of his mouth. I must say, only he can have that effect on people. Girls vote for him as the most eligible bachelor, but I would immediately place bets on him being the most insufferable kid in the world. I am not exaggerating, FYI. Oh, he's still speaking.

"We are now heading to my mansion, where all kinds of fancy treats await you and Niou over here. Humph," He runs a hand over his smooth, unruffled hair. I know he's presuming the 'casual' gesture to be charming and laid-back, and I want to puke at the idea. "You commoners are so lucky Ore-sama even has time to organize this carnival despite his hectic schedule."

I decide to ignore both him and the playboy altogether. The so-called 'Ore-sama' would continue blabbering on about his greatness and whatnot, and being with him in this enclosed space for a mere minute will be like an hour for me. I turn around, wobbling slightly on the balls of my feet, and walk away. Better not waste time on guys like these. I scratch my head as I go, knowing that will surely tick him off. Now where is the freakin' door…?

"Hey! It's rude to just leave when someone's speaking, you know," I hear someone behind me saying in a bored tone. The playboy is tailing me again, and even though his company is preferable over Atobe, I still do not look forward to the prospect of engaging in conversations with anyone right now. I crack my knuckles absently, hoping it gives out an I-am-not-someone-to-be-messed-with message.

The 'Ore-sama', as I collect from turning my head to look at him, is radiating menace as the both of us reach the other door. The fallen desserts, broken glasses and china, including the stained yellow tablecloth, with him standing in the middle of all that mess, contrasts sharply with his whole being there. If an unknowing someone steps in here, he/she might assume that a fight was just over, and that the bad guy (him) was still thirsting for more. His expression guarantees that. I give him a little, girlish wave out of spite, and am pleased to see his eyes glinting ominously. Score one for me, ha-ha.

I don't leave the door open for the person behind me. He grunts as he reaches me. I think he can't stand the 'Ore-sama' too, and he still has the nerve to shove that fact into my face. Unbelievable.

"Hello? Are you deaf?" He blocks my path with outstretched arms, and I swear I can see an affronted gaze in his eyes. He has muscles lining along his forearms, and his elbows protrude outwards in an odd angle. I see calluses in his palms, and I've felt them before, so I hazard a guess that he might be a tennis player.

"No, but you're being rude here. Excuse me…" I duck underneath his arms and quicken my pace of walking. To my extreme annoyance, he catches my arm. On reflex, I try shaking it off, but his grip is firm. His skin is warm, and when I notice his eyes widening a millimeter, I know my arm, in contrast, is cold. Perhaps that might explain my cold-blooded demeanor…

I clear my throat, and make a point by giving his arm a death stare. I think I hear a snicker, and when I look up, he IS smirking. I feel like kicking his balls again.

"Fine, fine. Wipe that scowl off your face, and you might look a lot prettier," He releases his grip, and I rub at the damp spot furiously. I feel my face burning from the sarcastic compliment. I'll grant him that he's very charismatic and persuasive… in an insolent way. But if he takes things up a notch, I'll swing my karate moves out without a second thought. He is overconfident, unabashed and worst of all, fickle. He plays tag-and-run with all kinds of women, and I'd rather die than participating in this frivolous game. He would ruin my already-dented pride forever. And after I deal with him, I might accidentally kill him. My family had been against me stepping into this carnival in the first place, and I can see the reason why.

I force my legs to walk slowly. If I run, I might seem too desperate to be rid of him.

"Puri," I hear behind me. This guy (Niou, is it?) seriously doesn't know when to stop. I turn my head around for the God-knows-what-and-hopefully-last time.

"What?" I say in an irritated tone. Well, that came out wrong.

He looks at me in confusion. "What?" He echoes back.

My forehead creases due to habit. I take a deep breath to calm myself. I feel so unlucky today. I make a mental note to start folding origami cranes when I get home, and pray to God I won't meet another guy of this caliber.

"Say it and get it over with," I ground out between my teeth.

"I don't know what you're talking about," He's a picture of innocence.

I glare. He stares back coolly.

I guess that "Puri" thing he said is something to tick people off. Better ignore him than sink any lower to his level.

There is a white door up front, and when I open it, I see a golden ballroom of sorts and crystal chandeliers shining brightly. People are mingling together, talking and laughing. Some high school students are also present. I can see uniforms of all colors. The noise of chatter and laughter darkens my mood, and I skulk off to the corner, half-wanting to hide behind the curtains until this party is over. Some people are holding wine glasses, and I spot a fountain spouting out red wine. So like the 'Ore-sama' to be this lavish and generous when it comes to spending money on entertainment. I search for my friend in the crowd; she is supposed to be with me at all times under my parents' orders, but she had disappeared long before I started drinking. As I glance down from the sheer windows, my belly swoops, and I quickly hurry off to the other side of the ballroom. Where is she?

I backtrack slowly, my eyes concentrated on the crowd, completely ignoring what was going on behind my back (literally). When I feel an ice-cold pressure on my backs of my arms, I swivel around swiftly and catch the offender by the shoulders firmly, giving her a good shake. It is a 'her', indeed.

Her long and neatly braided ringlets slap me in the face as she jumps up and down in a sickly enthusiastic manner. She is holding a glass of crimson liquid in her slender fingers, and I snatch it away from her in an instant, afraid that it might spill. My friend has a talent for being an endearing klutz.

Her face red and swollen slightly, she awards me with a glittering smile, showing off her evenly-rowed and white teeth. I roll my eyes. As beautiful as her smile is, it serves no effect to me whatsoever. She had been given orders to look after me, and now our roles were reversed. I know she has been running off with more guys than usual.

She purses her lips as I set her wine glass on the desserts' table. "You're no fun, Kaeda…." She slurs, her foul breath making me wince. Her elbows are bent, and her fingers are inconsistently moving, pointing here and there. She walks like Jack Sparrow onboard a pirate ship.

I whip out a breath mint from my pockets, and pop one into her mouth. She chews at it thoughtfully, and squints her eyes.

"That tastes… like toothpaste," She remarks, her voice and tone going up and down. One finger catches a ringlet, and she wounds it around and around, like a little girl, after being caught in the act of stealing, trying to wriggle out of it by playing dumb.

I cross my arms. I always do when something annoys me. "Duh. Toothpaste is made of mint, too," I scout around the colossal room. As soon as this carnival-slash-plane lands, I'm going to get Ayashi and myself off. It was almost nine, and my curfew is at nine thirty. It's also a Monday tomorrow, so I'd need to get my things ready for my new school. I mentally count the list of things I need to get done before I turn in…

When I'm back on planet Earth, Ayashi is missing again.

…

It takes about fifteen minutes to locate her (she is at the drinking stand, refilling her wine glass and hopelessly engaged in a poor flirting fest with a high-schooler who is shorter than both her and I). As I tug her away, she blows him a kiss.

The ground suddenly vibrates, and the tremors arise again. Ayashi grips me tightly, her doll-like eyes widening with fear and alarm. The people in the ballroom don't scream like just now, but instead resumes talking like nothing has happened. A big crash beneath our feet freaks the hell out of me, and I stumble, almost falling, but regain my balance at the nick of time. Ayashi is in a wide stance, her legs a mile apart, and if the 'earthquakes' hadn't happened, I would've laughed out loud.

The 'earthquake' stops abruptly. Well, this is GREAT. Carnival = earthquakes + playboys = A day of nightmares. I know Japan is known for its unstable earthquakes, but this is almost ridiculous. I vow to never ever set foot into a carnival again. No matter how my friends persuade me, or how colorful they look. Or how nice they _smell_. The plate of takoyaki I devoured a few hours ago is churning and churning in my stomach. Is it ever possible to feel airsick?

Ayashi's fingers loosen on my arm, and I can see red marks on that patch of white skin. Yes, I am white and fair. Too white, and sometimes mistaken for an albino. Most of the people in the ballroom had went to the windows to get a good look at the location, and some of them are smiling, while others look plain disappointed. I want to look, but am scared of them windows, so I nudge Ayashi, and gesture towards the windows as graciously as I can manage. She does so obediently, and steps into a pile of golden mush.

"What is this?!" She just short of shrieks. As she lifts her foot up, I can see the substance oozing down the heel of her high heels, dripping on the waxed floor. I touch it, and it feels icy cold.

"Ice cream," I dig my finger in deeper and put it in my mouth. You can see that I don't care in the slightest how people would think or feel if they see me like this. "Vanilla." I add. It tastes so good. So rich and creamy… and it isn't only the taste of vanilla… I help myself to the pile of free dessert. I don't see a spoon lying around, though…

"Humph. How undignified. Ore-sama-" That vile, condescending voice can only belong to one special individual: Atobe Keigo.

"Shut up." I say. It's a good reflex. I don't care how 'Ore-sama' thinks, so long as he doesn't disturb me. Ayashi has hobbled off to the windows, and jostling with other people for a better view outside. I think she lost me at "Vanilla".

"The spoons are over there, you know." He points out, obviously ignoring my previous comment. I don't look up from my dessert. I am irrevocably in love with this ice cream, but loath to ask him where he got this, and regrettably, the recipe. At least I have an excuse from answering him. My mouth is full and numb now. The chilly sensation rockets and explodes in my gums, sending tingles down my neck. I know my fingers are stained and sticky, and I also know Atobe would also point them out sooner or later. He's like a nagging hen that wants to keep a rebelling chick in the cage for another ten years. Do chickens even live that long?

"Kaeda! Kaeda!" Ayashi calls. Her high heels make a series of agreeable noises on the floor as she clatters over to us, no, me. I will pretend that Atobe Keigo is not standing beside me, eyebrows in an ocean-deep 'V' shape training down on me for the time being.

"We're on the ground!" She pants a little as she exclaims in a delighted tone. Her pupils, which were already quite dilated, darkens another shade as she sees my company. I can see it growing there. IT is going to give me a headache later. Before she can open her mouth to speak, she is forestalled with a smooth hand, the hateful hand that despite showing the proof of a well-bred pedigree, clenches on quite stubbornly. I can still feel his vengeful grip. My poor friend steps back a little as Atobe shifts his murderous gaze to her, flushing furiously. As usual, he has so much influence over the normal person.

"Do not interrupt my conversation with Ms Kuramoto, girl."

Shoot and screw him.

I stand up from my previous squatting position, my legs stinging, and push him aside, stained fingers and all. I grab Ayashi's hand, and run for the door that says 'EXIT' in glorious green letters.

I feel a twinge of pity for the guy behind us as we continue on with our big escapade.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Nope. Does not own PoT or any of its canon characters. But I call dibs on the heroine.

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I love making lists. Organizing and observing is my favorite pastime. Yes. I am a bookworm and aspiring writer. Need I say more?

Right now, I'm beholding my new room, which has just been furnished a few days ago. No matter how many times I step into this private haven of mine, I feel another surge of heartfelt gratitude and inner Zen mode uprising within me. The walls are painted a light apple green, my favorite color of all time. It starts with a swirly dark shade and ends in light-hearted hues across the room. A mahogany study desk, with my name plate (don't laugh), glistens under the white light and I can detect a hint of its pure, woody scent. My bed – my all-time favorite furniture in this room – is in matching green sheets, and the blanket looks so thick and soft that I almost can't help myself to clamber into that warm roosting place. The bookcase stands mighty and proud at the right side of my room, and although it has only been three days, all five compartments top to bottom are stuffed with binders and mostly novels. Harry Potter's scar peeks out from the spine of a book. I adore Harry Potter. I also adore J.K. Rowling. Those binders and notebooks are for my education purposes.

I know the combination of an imaginative writer and a possibly-diagnosed-with-OCD perfectionist is utterly unruly, but this is who I am. Haters can go to hell.

I step into my bathroom to wash up and prepare for bed. While my teeth are in the process of being cleaned and flossed, I ponder over my new school. Rikkaidai high school. I heard from my dad that all of the students there are filthy rich, so rich that the teachers can afford to live in Sheraton for a year straight. My dad loves to exaggerate. He pulls out all minimal, unsatisfying details and irons them out with a few twists of his own. I'm like him.

Anyway. I met Ayashi through Facebook, and when she revealed that she was a student there, I was practically skipping around yelling 'HURRAY' to everyone I saw. But… yeah. Is she an alcoholic? This fact remains a mystery to me.

Rikkaidai was famous for many things, the most prominent 'thing' being their tennis team. Their tennis team, I read once on the newspaper, reigned supreme over other school teams, sweeping off trophy after trophy each year. I even know about the Big Three. They seem unreal. Aren't they almost the same age as I am? Maybe it was a wrong decision to come to Japan, where everybody seem to have high expectations from lowly youths like me. I am absolutely useless at everything besides Art and English. At least I know how to converse in Japanese. Though, my writing skills really lack in that department…

I do a once-over with my book bag and my uniform; they were both clear. Then I pray.

What? You can't blame me. I'm just so freakin' scared of tomorrow.

…

My cute new fish-shaped alarm clock looks endearing when silent, but when it rings… my ears still hurt like hell even after I came out from the shower room. I tremble slightly as I step out. The window is open, and cold air rushes in. I know my mother must have tiptoed into my room at midnight to open the windows for me. Why did she do that for? I'm prone to colds.

My new Rikkai uniform. Short skirt. White blouse. Dark tie. Dark teal vest. The shuddering in my knees resonates with the pang in my heart: School starts today. My legs are nothing to be proud of, and I have no well endowment to feel secured for. I take a deep breath to calm down, but no, that doesn't work. A headache, remnants from last night's alcohol, comes in again. This sucks.

I half-heartedly pull on the skirt, wincing at the snug fit, and pull my stiff arms through the soft sleeves. As I appraise myself in the mirror, there is nothing out of place, except maybe for my red face. The uniform is too thin to protect me from the cold, so I grab my jacket as I go down stairs. I smell eggs and oil, and my stomach rumbles appreciatively. If I can eat, that means I'm still fine.

"Good morning, Kaeda." My dad greets without looking up from the newspaper. I respond, and sit myself at the front, away from him. Don't get me wrong. He sneezes like an elephant. I don't want my breakfast infested with his germs. I rub my cool hands together.

"Are you ready for school?" My mother chirrups cheerfully as she balances five plates on her elbows and palms. I wonder how she does that. She, like me, has the chalky pale complexion like an albino, and her black hair is up in a messy bun. She looks young enough to be my sister. My dad, on the contrary, has whitening sideburns. His horn-rimmed glasses, when accompanied with a disapproving frown, can send a cobra slithering in the opposite direction.

I grunt in reply. I feel queasy. I hope I don't barf my breakfast out. New school in a new environment; of course I would be queasy. I wonder how my brother manages. He's only three years younger than me, and he's as cool as a cucumber. Right now, I hear thunderous footsteps above me; when I look up, the lamp shudders slightly. He wakes up late, as always. I take comfort in the fact that although we are living in a different country now, my family and its quirky habits will still remain the same for now. Not much has changed drastically.

I attack my breakfast unforgivingly. I want to leave early, just so people won't stare at me when I come in with the other students. It's not that I look abnormal or anything; just that I'm new. I've read before that Japanese folks are usually very observant. I don't want to risk unwanted exposure in front of my soon-to-be peers at Rikkai.

My phone vibrates. The name 'Ayashi' flashes on the screen in hot pink. She's outside the gates.

I swallow my sandwich like water –refusing a Heimlich maneuver from my mother – and rush out, yelling a 'good-bye' to my parents.

…

Oh. My. God.

This school…

Is seriously… freakin' BIG.

I clear my throat to dislodge the lump I've been suppressing up until now, and nudge Ayashi, whose eyes were drowsy and dazed-looking (no doubt from last night's frolicking in the wine barrels).

"How big is this school again?" I choke out.

She shrugs, and walks in. I stumble after her, agape at the colossal school buildings. They were all made of expensive glass and _polished_ wood, I bet. It doesn't even look like a school; more like a private hide-out for celebrities like Lady Gaga. Standing at six-levels high, with the morning sun reflecting off the school windows, the school buildings look almost unreal and unbearably futuristic, a design that will emerge in about fifty years later. Maybe it is the overall cleanness that appeals to other people. I, however, am literally peeing in my pants just walking in and seeing the vast green fields, expanse tennis courts, badminton courts and another stocky-looking building labelled, 'GYM'. Oh man. I know that if this school had spent so much on the architecture and design, the students are bound to be inhumanly smart and rich.

What of me?

I'm merely a measly bug trying to wriggle its way into paradise.

Speaking of which, where is Ayashi?

Shoot. I'm all alone and lost now, I think in dismay. A white fountain spouting out crystal clear water is right in front of me, and the flowing sound does little to smooth over my fussing mind. This looks like a small courtyard from the looks of it, and there is an arch, which is thickly wrapped with vines that sprout out purple flowers, leading into the deeper depths of this institution, no doubt, on my right. A stone pavement on my left leads to a glass-encased house of sorts. I half-expect music to be played, so as to match up with this whole idea of a perfect haven.

This is not the time to be joking around. I have to reach the office before eight thirty! I glance at my watch. It's already eight fifteen!

I frantically look around, trying to find someone who could be of decent help to me. I just need directions.

…

A lost girl, standing in the middle of the school courtyard, her charcoal-black hair fanning in all directions while she swivels her head from left to right… An amusing sight. A thumb finds its way to his mouth, and he bites on it in anticipation. His turquoise eyes sharpens when he notices the scar on her left wrist.

His mind clicks.

Of course. She looked familiar. It is the girl from yesterday, at Atobe's carnival.

She wanted to punch me yesterday, didn't she? The unknown person thinks, his long legs growing stiff from the crouching position.

What is she doing here? In Rikkai, of all places? She is wearing the standard female uniform for this school, so does that mean…?

Whoa. What a super coincidence. She's actually a new student here? She looks to be about the same age as him, and he's never seen her before, so the person takes confidence in his excellent memory, immediately hitting the nail right on the head with uncanny precision.

Heh… An idea comes into his head.

He jumps down from his previous hiding place, and the muscles in his legs stretch out without warning, and he winces. He brushes some dust off from his vest, and walks in a hunched manner towards the unsuspecting girl. His hands curl into fists in excitement of carrying out one of his many pranks, and he smothers a dark laugh. The adrenaline is building up in his body, making his blood pulse and his brain fog up. It's euphoria; the moment he talks to them and sees their expressions when they realize they have been hoodwinked by a single third-year student… It's quite addictive, this pranking habit is. Once he starts, he can never stop.

He wonders, for a brief moment, what her name is.

…

I pace around the fountain in tight, fretful circles. The gravel under my shoes crunching and grinding in accordance with my footsteps is beginning to set me off. A blue sparrow, who'd been taking a dip in the water fountain, flies off chirping madly when I glared at it in sheer frustration and desperation. Poor guy. It didn't even deserve that kind of treatment. I'm not usually unkind to animals, but I maintain a healthy distance from them; birds, fishes and other household pets. Dogs kind of creep me out. Cats are just plain mean when you try to stroke it; they bare their claws at you, no matter how nice you were to them. Do not even go into the wild animals' category; they are JUST SCARY.

"Hello," Hallelujah, there's finally a savior!

I turn around and flash a smile at the person, when…

Shit of all places. I know this guy. This guy, I've seen him yesterday. Just yesterday, less than 10 hours ago!

And I hate this guy, for taking advantage of me like that.

My brain, which is mainly separated into two parties: The Rational and The Immature, start playing tug-of-war with each other. Forget what scientists say about the left and right part of the brain. The battle is fierce. The Rational tells The Immature to stop acting so stubbornly, and accept help when given, even though it's from a least desired source of company. The Immature, whom I personally prefer, start shrieking out protests and try to cheat by distracting The Rational with snippy complaints. The Immature claims that I would be _crazy_ if I even consider the proposal of asking for help from a disgusting playboy. The Rational falters a little, and the rope leans towards The Immature.

A glint of the sunlight catches in my eye, and I look down upon my wrist, wherein the needles of clockwork are ticking furiously. Right now, the long needle is pointing at the number five. Something jolts and shifts in my memory, like an asleep caged beast that had been awoken from the noisy tug-of-war.

My watch is slower than the average clock by a mile of ten minutes.

The Rational gives a wild cry in triumph.

I walk to the playboy in quick steps. "Where's the office?" I cringe slightly at my hostile tone.

Undeterred, and with an unfathomable smirk playing around his lips, he points towards the arch. He steps closer to me, his eyes lighting up like a predator's. An uneasy feeling coils in the pit of my stomach, and my heart flutters wildly. His spiky silver hair tickles my cheek, and I can only concentrate on the refreshing scent radiating off his neck, when he surprises me by catching ahold of my shoulders.

You know what I do next?

I freakin' _squeak_. Squeak, like a meek church mouse.

"Walk straight into the door on your left. The first one you see…" His moist breath tingles my ear. I feel an indecent urge to grab his head and hold him closer. My head is blank; The Rational and The Immature have left long ago. I think I'm blushing, and if I continue to ignore the flaming feel of fire in my cheeks, I will faint. It feels like all the blood in my body are drained, only to find them being pumped into my head non-stop.

A rush of wind makes my hair strands flutter, and he smirks again, facing me once more. I bite my lip, and doggedly continue on the path he'd laid for me.

I hope my legs look okay.

* * *

**A/N: Is it adequate? **


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nope. Does not own PoT or any of its canon characters.

* * *

I continue on the path laid out for me in a stage of fitful trembling and nerve receptors vibrating down my back.

Seriously, that guy…

I shake my head to rid of the disturbing memory, and navigate myself forwards in the dark, damp tunnel, which had the refreshing smell of flowers. The sunlight couldn't penetrate the thick walls of this long passageway, but I can catch a glimpse of eye-blinding brightness twenty feet away. The tunnel smells strangely like pee, and I try not to feel the soles of my feet. I hear an unpleasant flash, feel flecks of water droplets on my lower calf, and my shoes are soaking wet.

I stifle a rising curse.

When the sun welcomes me warmly with its bright and cheerful rays, I find myself surrounded by four different sections of red-bricked walls. Right before me, there is another dark-looking tunnel, and on the right side of the quadrilateral room, there is a door with no tags or signs. I don't hear anything in the silent space, or beyond the mysterious door that leads to an unknown place. I am lucky that I was not claustrophobic.

My mobile phone vibrates, and I look at the scratched home screen with dismay. I am running VERY late. I have to make a choice between the dark tunnel before me, or the door on my right.

Dark tunnels do not resonate with me. I go for the door.

It is quite mysterious, really, when I feel warm air gushing out from the slit under the door. It's like steam. Is this a backdoor that leads to the cafeteria? Perhaps I can ask for directions from humbler and more trustworthy folk in this kitchen. I wrench the knob down, and transparent steam, damp and lukewarm to the skin, engulfs me. I can't see anything through the white substance, so I enter the room to get a clearer picture.

I hear water sloshing down in there. More steam. A bout of laughter and slapping sounds, accompanied by rapidly talking masculine voices make me halt in my steps. The linoleum surface is wet. My shoes are not getting any better treatment. As I wave my arms to ward off the incoming steam, I see a large block of wall before me, cut in congruent squares and painted in a soft, baby blue. The masculine voices grow louder over the thundering stream of water. The humid environment piles pressure and weighs heavily on me, and a light-headed sensation circles my mind relentlessly. A hint of shampoo, very familiar, almost identical to the brand my dad uses, saturates the atmosphere. There is just too much masculinity around here…

Huh? Does that sound right?

I don't have time to ponder over this, because right at that moment, an ominous dark shadow looms over me.

…

The bell of Rikkaidai rings with urgency. Students are thereby hustled into their classes by that aggravating sound, and books are being slammed into desk drawers. In class 3B-1, the buzz of noise is getting louder. Other teachers have already entered classrooms, with the exception of this particularly rowdy third years' lounge room. The boys and girls of this class are especially outspoken and unafraid of demerits, so they continue their chatting with gusto, paying their monitor no attention at all.

Their monitor, at present, slumps down on the teacher's chair lethargically. His glasses mirror the worry and impatience in his eyes, and his bangs are swept to his forehead, the strands all matted and sticking together from sweat. He half-heartedly lifts up the long ruler, and stares at it with an affronted gaze, maybe wondering why he sucks at leadership.

Another boy, tall and lanky in build, with a shock of silver hair that makes him resemble a delinquent, and striking turquoise eyes, slips out of his own seat and meanders to the teacher's desk, giving the monitor's shoulder a gentle pat.

The monitor pushes his hand away roughly, as if he'd rather they maintain no further contact between each other. The other boy, whose notorious reputation and love for trickery had earned him a very outlandish nickname, Prankster, quickly ruffles the monitor's messed-up head, and jumps away before the latter can swipe back at him. His triumphant smirk takes up the bottom half of his face.

"Leave me alone, Niou," The monitor groans, looking at Prankster with mock disgust.

"It's my duty to cheer a good friend up, so tell me about your day. How was it?" Prankster cautiously comes closer, and when he doesn't detect any signals of animosity from the monitor, he promptly sits on the top of the desk, shaking his legs in a careless manner. "Did it suck so badly that you can't even hush the class down with your normal scowls?"

The monitor shakes his head. He doesn't reply for a minute. Prankster waits patiently.

"… I was dumped." The monitor finally said, his voice sounding smaller and lacking in energy.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

"No way. Who?" Prankster can't contain his curiosity. He leans nearer to the monitor, and as if by pure instinct, the monitor flinches and backs away.

"None of your business, Niou. I'm too tired to talk about it." The monitor adds, shaking his head again.

Prankster, a.k.a. Niou, sighs and casts his eyes to the high ceiling. Thoughts drift past his nimble but lazy mind like puffy clouds, lingering for barely a moment. His hand clenches tightly on the edge of the desk when an idea becomes apparent in his mind. A classic Cheshire grin literally makes his face glow.

"Let me help you out, friend," He punctuates the last word with a sneer. The monitor does not react. He jumps off the desk, and goes to the front of the classroom.

Prankster brings his hand to his face, and closes his eyes. Random images flicker through his brain, and he settles on one he thinks suitable for this situation. His brain then shuts off. Everything grows eerily quiet around him, but it was only the temporary cutoff from his five senses. A male's face shimmers before him amidst the black inkiness, and like a bullet from a gun, Prankster dives towards it. When he melds into one with the face and its body, Prankster feels a violent shudder rip through him, a familiar shudder which had always taken place during his transformations. Prankster's arms become the person's arms; his eyes to the person's eyes; his legs to the person's legs etc.

The process is completed. So far, none of the students have realized the important person standing in front of the classroom.

"HEY PEOPLE! GET BACK TO YOUR SEATS AND TAKE OUT YOUR TEXTBOOKS! TURN TO PAGE 42 AND KINDLY READ THE WHOLE PAGE FROM THE SECOND PARAGRAPH AND THE FIRST WORD THAT STARTS WITH THE LETTER 'E'! HURRY UP, WE DON'T HAVE ALL DAY, DO WE?!" A deep and nasty bass voice booms out of Prankster's bigger larynx, and he props his thick arms on his meaty waist, trying hard to contain his mirth. Prankster's silver hair had been replaced by a bald head, and receding white eyebrows barely visible from a distance are forced downwards in a disapproving V. His wrinkled face becomes more uneven when he lets a frown grace his countenance, simply improvising.

The monitor rolls his eyes.

The students are scared stiff, their bodies turning as still as stone. Shocked expressions on their faces nearly brings Prankster to his knees, dying of laughter, when another interruption occurs.

"Good morning, stu- Mr Nishimoto, sir! What are you doing here?" A feminine voice joins the scene. Nishimoto (Prankster) turns, and sees a small, middle-aged woman with a bundle of files and paperwork being clasped to her ample chest. Her pink, crystal-studded cat glasses glisten slightly as she arranges them on her nose, her lips flipping downwards.

What catches Prankster's attention is the familiar girl beside his teacher. The girl is towers over the teacher by several inches, and she is now twiddling her thumbs together, looking nervous and distraught. Prankster almost smirks, knowing that HE had caused that, but the teacher, once again, grabs his attention with no intention of letting go.

"Mr Nishimoto! We just finished our meeting with Kuramoto here a few minutes ago! I thought you were still up at your office! Why… How… What?!" This teacher had the tendency to overreact under tense circumstances, and Prankster dislikes that about her. But he is in deep shit now. Quick, excuses.

"Er… err… I've taken a liking to jogging around the school premises… helps build up my physique, see." To languish more effect, Prankster pats his gargantuan stomach, and tries to suppress a grimace at the alien layer of fat he had never carried before.

"But how can you reach this classroom at this floor in the interval of three minutes, when the only way we can get here is through the route Kanagashi and I took FIFTEEN minutes ago!" The teacher cries out, wringing her arms.

"Ah, ah. Ms Takamura, you are mistaken if you think you know this school that well. There are… say, a few secrets I am acquainted with. Maybe there's a shortcut…?" Prankster tsks at his teacher's eminent naiveté, crossing his arms, hopefully giving out warning signals that warned the flustered teacher against asking pointless questions again.

All along their queer exchange, the students were in a state of petrified speechlessness. But now, the spell is broken, and they appraise the two adults with interest. Prankster is increasingly growing aware of their stares, and he must get out of this classroom as soon as possible, since the appearance will have worn off in the span of two minutes. Transformation does not last long.

"Alright. Ms Takamura. I will leave you in charge of the students now. Please make sure they do not disrupt the other classes in their lessons. Class 3B-1 has grown much too rambunctious, nowadays." He gives the rest of the students a hard glare. "Kuramoto," He flashes a 'charming' smile at the silent girl, in which her eyes bulge out with incredulity and shock. "Do please enjoy yourself for the rest of the year as Rikkai's student."

Now how can a fat old man of his current stature be charming without giving a youthful girl the chills? Satisfaction seeps through him, and he stifles a snicker.

He powerwalks out of the room and beelines for the men's.

…

When he comes back into Class 3B-1 as his usual Prankster's self, he notices the new girl sitting in the place beside him.

There is a long history concerning the reason of the empty seat beside him for some time now. Girls and boys come and go, never leaving a decent good-bye before they depart. He actually feels a pang of disappointment at their wary distance of him, and frequently guesses at their reason for leaving. Was it all his fault for playing with their feelings? Did he do anything wrong?

He slid into his seat soon enough, after informing Ms Takamura of his temporary absence. The girl doesn't even bat an eyelash at him.

"Niou, excuse me for the new seating plan, but Kuramoto has agreed to take the place of our previous student who'd left. Be nice to her, and you can," Ms Takamura looks at Prankster levelly as she continues, "I'm not saying you have to, but you can show her around during break. Do not do anything fishy." She emphasizes with a pointing of her index finger to Prankster's direction. "If word gets out that you bullied our new student, I'll personally ask Mr Nishimoto to skin you alive."

Prankster feigns a harried nod and shrugs when Ms Takamura directs her attention to the whiteboard.

"She means it, you know," The girl says quietly, in such a quiet tone, so drastically different from the night at the carnival.

"Really? Already an hour in this school, and you already know how teachers think and behave?" Prankster counters with an equally smooth maneuver. He taps his ball point pen on his hardcover notebook, staring at Ms Takamura's shaking hand moving across the whiteboard at a tortoise's pace. It'd be a handy habit to pick up while he practices his transformation technique.

"If she doesn't do what she promised, I'll do it myself." Kuramoto says with finality, promising suffering and pain, all the while bending her head over her notes.

* * *

A/N: Feedback, feedback...


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Nope. Does not own PoT or any of its canon characters. But I call dibs on the heroine.

* * *

The bell rang with clarity, and nearly made me jump out of my skin. But no, I cannot afford to lose my composure in front of the Prankster, so-nicknamed by my new peers, whose whispers were too loud to be considered whispers.

What I hear is very interesting. I expect shocking things coming from you, Mr Prankster.

I don't say that aloud, of course. I just give him a dismissive glance, and accidentally catches him staring at me. Due to my karate reflexes, I grab ahold of my impulse to quickly look away, and maintain eye contact with him. As our mutual staring grows sharper and more hostile, I start thinking about the pimple on my nose, the short eyelashes on my eyes, my messy hair, my moon-round face… all the flaws in my very five features start jutting out like an odd triangle in my mind, I really want to turn my attention to Ms Takamura's squeaky high voice, and to the whiteboard, now already full of complicated math equations which I'll never ever understand; but no, I will not, ever, lose to him in any game he wishes to start. It's not in my nature. Despite it being lunch time, Ms Takamura refuses to let us go just yet.

"Class dismissed! Remember the quiz next day!" Ms Takamura says sweetly, giving the rest of the students a quick wink before walking out of the classroom. About 80% of the class groans, which is expected; I don't, partly because I'm too proud to do so, and partly because I know I already suck at Math, so I won't make an effort to study tonight. Not even when my mother offers to teach me.

And yeah, I win. "Good luck on the Math quiz tomorrow," Prankster says, sliding his chair back as he stands up, his hands in his pockets, as always. His smile is full of the laid-back ambiguity that I so dislike. I prefer people who are open and more emotional; he's the polar opposite. Usually, a person's smile can tell me all sorts of things: how they're feeling, what they want, what they think of me… But I don't get any vibes from him, negative nor positive. I can't decide whether he's a nice or mean person. I know he plays tricks on people, especially girls, so that meant he's playful. That's all I gleaned from the whispered conversations in class.

He's popular too, judging from the way the guys slap his back not-too-hard-or-soft, like they are kindergarten playmates. Students on duty today are beginning to clean the whiteboard, sweep the floor, dust the windows… only I'm left, sitting there in silence, contemplating the Prankster's words. I'm obsessive that way. He said 'good luck', and it was only normal that I return the luck back to him. But he didn't wait for my reply – well, I wasn't sure if I were able to have given a decent reply – and just went off, probably lurking in the shadows and searching for openings to prank people. His tone was dismissive and lazy, like he said it for the sake of saying, without any heart or sincerity. I look to his seat, and splay my hands into the darkness of his desk drawer; it's empty. His school bag isn't here.

Ah. Skipping. Why didn't I think of that.

When Ms Takamura handed out a test back, a test that I didn't have to retake, although I was a new student, thank God, I sneaked a peek at his paper, and the insurmountable amount of the mark greatly shocked me into envy.

How the hell did he manage to snag a solid, red 95% on a Math chapter on geometry?! That was, and still is, I hate to admit, an impossibility for me to attain that mark.

Perhaps he is going to skip Math tomorrow, so he just wished me good luck, when he knows he isn't coming to class to take the quiz. I doubt Ms Takamura will have the heart to scold him; I mean, he is good at disguising himself. Who knows, if he'll become another Mr Nishimoto again? I admire his guts for taking on the identity of a highly-respected principal, albeit a fat one. The thought of him not attending the quiz tomorrow somehow deflates me, as I've been secretly looking forward to him brandishing one of his trademark tricks during tests or quizzes. They say the tricks even escape Ms Takamura's notice. That's intriguing and terrifying at the same time. If students have the power to fool even a teacher, then the institution known as 'school' is a big fat joke that all students would protest and sign a petition against.

And how do I know his habit of disguising?

From this morning's hazy fiasco.

…

The space has a thick and clotted atmosphere, and I presume that I'm in a sauna or some kind of room. The air is slightly warm, and my underarms become damp. As I pace around the room experimentally, my cotton school shoes emit a frightful squeak, which echoes around the space like the sound is muffled through a thin screen. Everything becomes deadly still; and I've become so scared that even a warm presence sets my shrieking system off like an alarm clock. A thick but smooth palm swiftly covers my mouth. It feels hot and smells lemony.

I look up, and see amber eyes, almost hidden under the bushy black eyebrows, glare out at me. They are twice as scary as the towering stature of the person – a young man – is tall and muscular. He wears only a skimpy white towel around his tree trunk waist, and I try to keep my wandering eyes on him. The burning urge to just look down is strong, but no, I must be disciplined. I learn karate, so I must maintain my chastity and honor.

Now what does chastity and honor had anything to do with this complicated situation?

"Where am I?!" I whisper fiercely under his big hand. Then I stop; why am I whispering? The least I can do is attempt a roundhouse kick at his knee and dash off while he howls in pain at his broken leg. But I know the limit of my strength; the real LEAST I can do is poke his eyes out and run off, my tail between my legs in defeat while he curses at the sharpness of my fingernails. Yeah, they aren't cut yet.

As my master has taught me, I don't attack innocents – though in this situation, 'innocent' is used loosely and understates the reality – unless they have given me reason to do so. So I have no choice but to remain impassively motionless, directing a defiant stare at him. Another masculine shout nearly scares the wits out of me.

"Oi Sanada?! What are you doing, standing at the entrance? Do you still need your clothes? They're blocking my locker…" The voice drifts closer to us, and I see a bright flash of magenta and no sign of a towel. Another guy is crossing his thin and wiry arms, and his hair is dripping. I've only seen my dad's…thing when I was small, and he used to take baths with me in the onsen, and my brother, when we took baths in the bathroom together when we were kids. He laughed at my lack of a penis, I remember then. My face burns. Luckily the guy – Sanada, he says? – are standing in a dim area, so I hope the delinquent won't notice the two flags of color on my cheeks.

The delinquent doesn't even feels embarrassed. Instead, he stares at me with bulging eyes. "What the heck is a girl doing here?" He asks softly, with the tone so indescribably gentle that I get the feeling he's speaking to a hare that might spring away at the slight possibility of sound.

Sanada grunts, and after giving me a once-over, removes his hand. I gasp and choke, turning away. The warm presence fades away, and the two boys are starting a discussion. About me.

"She just wandered into the BOY's changing room, so I think we should send her to the school nurse as soon as possible." Sanada has a low but bossy voice. His point made, he glances at me again and shakes his head. Seeing him looking disapproving actually makes me feel let down somehow. I have the insane wish to IMPRESS him. Maybe I should go to the nurse.

"Nah, she's fine. Just let her out, and she'll forget this incident, right?" The delinquent gives me a smile. He's more lenient than Sanada, who has a look of deep suspicion carved on his long face. I find myself giving him a little wave. I smack my hand when they aren't looking.

"Are you sure? She might not be wholly right in her mind, and look at how she's looking at us." Sanada says, pointing at me with his index finger. A wave of fury washes over me. What's his problem? Did he woke up at the wrong side of the bed this morning?

"I think this must be one of Niou's pranks… You never know that guy. He likes disguises, so maybe he disguised as Mr Nishimoto or someone else to send this girl into here." The delinquent rubs his chin thoughtfully. Niou? Didn't I ask him directions some time ago?

And now I must be so late. I don't even dare to look at my watch.

"Excuse me, sorry to intrude the boy's changing room, but I'm lost, and I only need to know how to get to school administration." I interrupt, feeling embarrassed under the laser scan of two pairs of eyes.

The delinquent cracks another smaller smile. "Walk straight on into the second passageway, and you'll see a big tacky sign with 'school office' scrawled all over." He elbows Sanada, but another grunt from the latter quickly makes him retract his arm again. Sanada is certifiably taller than him, and much serious; both of them make a very weird oxymoron. I wonder if they are in the same grade as me, and if they are in the same class I'll be placed in a matter of minutes.

But I don't want to ask. I say "thanks" hastily and bow out of the changing room, the virile smell dissipating as the wooden door shuts, without making a creak.

The principal's secretary is none too pleased to meet up with a late student. I cross my fingers and hope that the first impression will not heighten the chances of me being placed in a rotten class with more males than females. She is stationed at the entrance of the principal's personal office, complete with her own mahogany desk and even a small vase of scraggly branches without any leaves. She just angles her body sideways and raps the door with a sure knock. I see a brass nameplate hanging on a thin hook, "NISHIMOTO HIRAKU" emblazoned with showy golden letters.

She flattens her ear against the paneled wood, and nods a few times, before finally settling her attention upon me.

"Go in." Frank, clipped and cool. What a good receptionist with impeccable manners.

Inside the Westernized room, a bald man, his waxed dome head shining under the white light, is furiously typing in his tiny laptop. If not for the well-known logo of a respected corporation printed on the laptop's silver-smooth surface, I might've assume he was playing with a toy computer, purchased at Bandai Co. This room is of a different level than the lavish decorations in this school; I smell polished wood and lacquered furniture, mingling into a comforting natural atmosphere. This place actually makes me feel at home; a rare thing, when I've just moved here. Tokyo is a glittering metropolitan area. Everything passes by in a blur of red traffic lights and white flashes of skyscrapers. Especially when you're sitting in a car, dreaming about sunny beaches and tanned skin miserably.

I come from Hokkaido. Now, thinking about it, makes me sad all over again.

"Hello." The man greets suddenly, white eyebrows furrowing at something on his computer screen. He speaks like he's referring to the laptop, not me.

"Hi," I respond. I sink down onto a velvet maroon seat, and the ache in my legs grow more pronounced. I had been standing for ages, and if not, walking. The realization hits me quite hard.

Mr Nishimoto sighs. He pushes his laptop away and puts on a pair of glasses. The glasses have the strange effect of making his eyes bigger and rounder, like a bug-eyed insect.

"I presume you are Kuramoto Kaeda, our new student all the way from Hokkaido?"

Who else can I be? Not a lot of students get to enter Rikkaidai in an everyday basis. I nod stiffly.

He sighs again. Is it that laborious for him to accept a new student in his prestigious school? He clasps his hands under his chin, and pins me in a good, long stare. I start fidgeting.

"You've got your class schedule, your books, so all you need is a class, right?" He bends under his desk and I hear a drawer sliding open. A patch of his clean head bobs a little, and he straightens himself again with a low cough. He slides a piece of paper towards me, and when my hand extends outwards automatically to receive it, he pulls back his own like he's afraid to touch mine. When I look at him in curiosity, he smiles nervously and leans back farther into his black chair.

I look on the rectangle piece of paper. Class 3B-1, in neatly typed black writing.

"Well, off you go then. I'm sure you're a nice girl, so you won't need me to lecture about the school protocol and stuff, right?" He says jovially, his hands virtually itching to his laptop. This is a new thing; I expected Rikkaidai's principal to be a strict and stern educator. But he's right, I did want to skip the hassle and just hurry off to class. I'm already late.

"Anyway. Even though Rikkaidai seems, in the external surface, a topmost school in terms of academics and sports; you needn't worry. I was just like you when I was assigned to this school as the Voice of Authority." His eyes crinkle around the corners, and he looks almost kind, observing my long-hidden distress and anxiety. "This school's the same as any other school. Only the pupils are more outgoing and talented." He adds, dousing water to my brief rush of gratitude. Gah, he's a principal like no other, wishing the best for his school and trampling over an insecure girl's fear of not fitting in his school, because he knows she WILL fit in, because the school's so good, the students are already labelled 'nice and proper', and they'll just accept her easily.

"Oh, wait. I'll ask the class's first period teacher to escort you." Mr Nishimoto presses on a red button on the left lowest corner of his desk. He mumbles something into the speaker, and goes back to his progressive typing. I feel like lingering, and demanding him to at least show me around the school perimeter; but he's an adult, and I, to him, am an immature klutz of a girl. Anything I request for, he'll just shrug it off.

I go outside and wait for Ms Takamura.

…

So this is how it came to be. The school's brilliant, I already know a Prankster, and I've upset a delinquent and a nasty, temperamental teenager.

Can I live through this?

I'm mulling over the enormity of this question, when something brushes across my cheek, like a feather duster. I almost sneeze.

"Hi!" A girl. She must be one of those students on duty today. Her apple-red flushed cheeks tauten as a big grin travels across her face. Luminescent brown eyes twinkle with friendliness, and chocolate braids drape over her chest, tied with sunshine-yellow ribbons, the entire picture depicting a cheerful girl with good grades, and the strong hint of being a teacher's pet. Yes, yes. She must be one.

"My name's Kimura Chiyo. Nice to meet you! Your name's Kuramoto Kaeda, right? Can I call you Kaeda? I can't believe you came all the way from Hokkaido! How's it like over there? Is it too hot? My family's planning a trip there, and I'm wondering if you can recommend some attractions for me! You don't look very tan; do you go to the beach often?" She spouts out like a kettle trying to suppress steam from rising within. A chatterbox. I won't say it's bad, but I don't really like talking in excess either. Chiyo looks pleasantly normal for a girl who studies at Rikkaidai. I'm already relieved.

But now I'm struggling to answer her gunfire questions all at once. "Yes, you may. No. It's not too hot. I'll just let you go sightseeing without any foremost warnings. Yes, I do. I don't get why my skin doesn't tan." My skin is stuck in a shade between honey brown and milky pale. The infuriating in-between.

"Oh, interesting! My skin just burns when it gets exposed under the sun for too long! But I just LOVE the sun!" She twirls her braid in one finger almost shyly.

I nod, smiling ruefully. I somehow see a shadow of my past self, way before I came to Tokyo, in her laughing voice. The sunny girl who sees the good in almost every aspect of something of little significance. There is no reason for my sudden, caterpillar-morphing-into-butterfly change; I grow older, my mind gets sedated more frequently: by more and more distractions. It's a self-regulating mechanism.

"I hope you like Rikkaidai!" She says, holding her hand out.

"Thank you." This time, my smile is genuine. Our hands interlock, and her warmth fuse with my clamminess.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: … I think the first word in this new chapter pretty much sums it up, huh?

* * *

Chiyo chattered through all the way down to the canteen. That girl could talk about almost anything; from school work, to the latest hit manga. She'd already asked for my number, and vice versa. I secretly labelled her contact name as, "ChiyoTheChatterbox". Strangely, I don't find her endless amount of talking repulsive or silly, as I would usually think. Her words aren't used coarsely, and nor does she criticize people behind their backs. She just talks like normal, even though she does have a lot to talk about. She reminds me of a friend.

Ah-ha. Speaking of friends, where is Ayashi? I lost her this morning, and she doesn't seem to be arranged in my class. I wonder if Chiyo knows her.

I feel sorry for her when I put a block to her speech about the "Hottest Males of Rikkaidai". I've heard enough of that one, trust me.

"Do you know an Ayashi in this school? I don't know her surname, but she's in the same grade as us."

Chiyo pauses, and thinks. We are standing at the entrance of the canteen, and when I lean forward to peek into the big, oil-scented place, I hear loud guffaws and the low rumble of a hundred people chatting. A girl shrieks in her high, girlish voice, and I frown. I actually expected Rikkaidai to be, say, more sophisticated than my old school. But I guess pupils are the same everywhere.

I don't feel like entering the place. I lead Chiyo away, and we walk to the opposite direction. Even the scent of potato wedges frying or meat patties being flipped does not weaken my resolve.

"Do you mean Nishimoto Ayashi, the principal's daughter?" Chiyo perks up, regarding me with curiosity.

Nishimoto Ayashi? Ayashi's the daughter of Mr Nishimoto? No way. She would've told me that earlier. Besides, being a possible alcoholic can't also be an educator's offspring, can it? Mr Nishimoto doesn't strike me as the fatherly type who sits and plays hide-and-seek with his children, or child. He's like ALL principals, which I hate. Principals are fat, bald and sickly, masochistically proud of their own institution, and Mr Nishimoto fits the bill quite snugly.

"Yeah, maybe." If I say 'no', Chiyo will start bombarding me with questions, anyway.

"She's so amazing…" Her sudden dreamy tone makes me stop in my footsteps. I look at her in question.

"She's got good grades, and she's the star athlete of Rikkaidai's badminton team! She's literally leading them to national glory!" Chiyo explains, with stars in her eyes.

"Oh? Much like the tennis team?" I ask absently, concentrating at my spotty shoes – from this morning's puddle stepping – as I continue pacing.

Chiyo blinks, and seems to straighten up from her worshipping stance. "No. The tennis team's still going strong, as always. Nothing can beat the BOYS' tennis team," She affirms with a slight nod. Maybe the stars in her eyes are gone, but hearts take their places. Perhaps the chatterbox isn't fully immune to the unfathomable charms of the opposite gender. I wonder what makes the boys' tennis team so special that the girls' of this school reserve a place in their hearts, just for the sake of nine boys. Nine? Ten?

Just to humor my new bestie, I keep my questions in the are-the-boys-that-hot-until-they-make-you-swoon meter. "Who's your favorite player in the team?"

"Marui Bunta!" She answers without hesitation. "He's cute, he's got pink hair, and he's the genius of the team!"

Hm? Pink hair? My brain reassembles the morning's events.

The naked guy? Really? Seriously?

I don't tell her, though.

"Genius? How can someone well-versed in the field of tennis be 'genius'?" I make air quotes. "They can only be skilled, or experienced."

"Oh no. Marui is so different! I mean genius as in he's a volleying genius!" Chiyo explains painstakingly. She doesn't need to; I don't want to know a lot about him either. It's not like I'm the one who likes him. And what the heck does 'volleying' means? Tennis is like German to me; I have no idea what those fancy-dancy words like 'volley', 'lob' blah blah blah… I don't have the intention to ever learn, anyway. Even if all the other girls know every nook and cranny of the tennis sport, I don't have to follow in their footsteps. I'm already disappointed that Chiyo does, though.

"Then who's the most popular in the team?" We're sounding like a pair of gossiping geese now. My girlish voice isn't as girly as I want it to be.

"Oh… that's a tough question. It varies, I guess, depending on a girl's type. My type is the funny, sweet one, a person who gives a girl flowers during Valentine's Day, and won't be embarrassed when he proclaims his love for me in public… as you know." Chiyo purses her lips. She leads me to a pair of revolving doors. It's bright outside today; warm but not hot, cool but not freezing. I like this weather especially. One of the many good quirks about Tokyo, the industrialized city. I think we're heading to the school grounds outside. Oh well. I don't feel particularly hungry today.

"If you like the strong, silent type, you should definitely go for Sanada Genichiiro." My friend points out, but her eyes aren't on me anymore. She's craning her neck to look behind me, behind her, back to the doors, and to the green grass of ground. I know all too well that she's looking for the shadow of her unrequited love, Marui Bunta. I'll let that fact slide. Lovesick girls suffer the most.

"You don't have to tell me that, Chiyo. I can just see for myself if they're even worth the fangirling." I say, walking up the slope to the green field. I feel like lying my head against the grass, and inhale the earthy, natural scent. I actually like the scent of dirt; it has a refreshing and clean smell. And when I mean dirt, I mean soil, not anything else. My shoes remain dry. Great, the ground is dry. I sit down. Chiyo looks at me in concern; I pat the ground beside me and smile.

She relents, but not before saying, "You know there are actually worms, insects and other bugs in the grass, do you?"

"No matter. I don't care. I can wash my hair and clothes when I get home." I lie down, and look up in the sky. It's blue, and fluffy clouds sail past serenely. I make out a shape of a dog, a cat, a piece of pie, and even a pair of glasses that look suspiciously like Ayashi's. There's nothing happening around me at the moment, and all is quiet. I like it. It's actually the most peaceful thing that's happened to me after I came to Tokyo. Last night, when I got kissed by someone I barely know; this morning, when I stumbled into the boys' changing room. I want to sleep. The sudden nearness of the forget-me-not sky, the relaxed breathing of my friend next to me, also equally soothing, and the smell. A stray breeze ruffles my tangled hair. My eyelids flutter shut. I begin to lose consciousness…

Maybe I've slept through the entire lunch hour, or maybe for a few minutes, but I wake up when something tickles my mouth. Something feathery light and with a drop of dew. I lick the dew drop, and it melts sweetly in my mouth, even though it's mostly water and only one percent honey. The sunlight backlights the figure leaning over me. I don't see braids hanging; it's not Chiyo. Where is she? I let my eyes adjust.

It's… him. Prankster smiles lopsidedly at me, not forgetting to add a dash of mystery in that smile. He's holding a dandelion by its stem. The light behind him lights up the outer edges of his figure, and casting his face into dark shadows. I don't like that; it makes him seem sinisterly nasty.

I push him away and sit up. Where is she? Did he shoo her away?

"She's gone to get you a drink." He answers, as if he's reading my mind. I move away from him, only to have him shifting closer.

"Yeah, I get it. She's gone to get me a drink, and you're going to take the chance and swear vengeance because I kneed you in the groin last night. Hell, I didn't know you were such a resentful person." One corner of my lip rises, but I'm not smiling. At least not figuratively. I'm trying to mock him into speechlessness. I, on the other hand, want vengeance for him tricking me into the boys' changing room. It's like the whole scenery changes; the grass doesn't smell as nice or look as green any longer; the sky looks clouded, but the sun is still shining. I just feel a simmering pissed-off crockpot of annoyance at him. The Prankster.

"Maybe, maybe not." God, HIS EQ is high. Then it'll be harder to make him snap. How I long for a heated argument. The adrenaline is pulsing through me; I need action. What better to seek from him, when he has stumped me twice already? He's given me cause for anger on a fruit platter!

"You look nice when you sleep." He says, his smile growing wider. He flicks a hair strand from his eyes impatiently, and sits there, waiting for my response.

Oh, stop that. I'm going to blush. "Thank you. You're creepy when you look at people sleeping. By the way, that was a very disarming pick-up line." I get pissed. I don't want flirting or something else to be involved. People might get mistaken when they see the two of us together. I might even be trampled by hordes of blood-thirsty fangirls. I move away from him again. Now I'm six feet away. Sufficiently okay, I guess. He regards me in amusement. The smile is back on.

He twirls the dandelion stem in his long fingers. "I assume you're not 'picked-up' yet? And I don't just watch random people sleeping, with drool on their faces," His stare grows steelier. I self-consciously feel the corners of my mouth. Clean and dry. "I just happened to pass by."

"Well, see you someday. I've got to find Chiyo for now." I stand up and brush the grass away. Perhaps I'll visit this field again tomorrow. It's the perfect sanctuary for someone like me, the new girl. I only hope I won't meet this guy again. He already sits beside me during all eight classes in the day, and it's near impossible to avoid him completely.

"Bye." He doesn't look at me. He's looking at the yellow dandelion in his hand.

…

Chiyo is by the vending machine, sticking her fingers into the slit to get the two cokes. I tap her shoulder, and squat down to help her.

"You're awake now?" She slams the machine, and it spits the two cokes out. I catch them just in time.

"Yes. It was a good nap. I think I'll go to the field again tomorrow." I give her my change – which she refuses – and open the cap. She's having trouble with hers. I hand her my own, and crack the can open for her.

"I think the soccer team is practicing tomorrow, though…" Chiyo says, drinking in small sips. She looks wistful, disappointed, maybe, for not being able to see her beloved. Why doesn't she go look at the tennis courts? I look at my watch; there's still twenty minutes. She's pouting. I roll my eyes. I want that hurtful expression – it borders around the lines of a little girl losing her Chihuahua puppy to a meaner girl – to disappear and not show itself again. I suddenly realize who Chiyo behaves like: my mother.

And for anybody like mother – and now, I know – or who remotely resembles my mother in more than one way, I do the exact thing that person would be hoping for me to do. It doesn't stem from a strong sense of duty or because I want to drool at boys too; it's a relatively easy thing to do. I do whatever necessary to make a friend happy.

I sigh before speaking. I must weigh the options, plan the timing, the 'coincidence'…

Aw. Screw that. I have to put away my OCD tendencies and give in to the smooth flow of fate. That sounds cheesy, even when coming from me.

"Where are the tennis courts? I want to see just HOW GOOD these guys play." I smirk. "They can't possibly play better than Roger Federer or Rafael Nadal. Or the Samurai, Echizen Nanjiro." I'm not a very clueless fool when it comes to sports. I know quite a few of the famous people… thanks to my dad's rambling. He reads the sports section on the daily newspaper everyday like a faithful fan. He 'majors' in badminton, but tennis is one of his interests.

"God, Kaeda, even they can't be compared to those people you mentioned," Chiyo laughs ruefully. She nervously unclips her bangs, and clips them again. "They're a lot better than the average standards of a high school team, that's all. I never elaborate too much on their skills! I'm a space-out when it comes to sports." Says the girl who told me details of their latest victory just… forty minutes ago? Chiyo, after fussing with her bangs, which look fine enough, starts fiddling with her braids. She groans in frustration when the braid comes loose.

"I can't retie it from my angle. Can you help me with it?" She turned to me. Me? Hair-tying? That's a shortcut recipe for disaster.

"Sorry, I can't make your braid look any better than me ruining your silky hair completely." I slurp my coke noisily. "Your mom ties it for you?"

"Yeah, sort of." Good. Now I know a mamma's girl won't try to bully me or betray me to other meaner bullies in the school. I'm relieved.

"But what do I do now?! We're reaching the courts in ten minutes!" Her expression is a bubbling mixture of fear, panic and lust. Lusting after boys is not very attractive to the boy you've set your sights on, but I don't tell her that. I know she'll burst into tears if I even mention the name of her love. Poor Chiyo. I'm sorry I can't fix your hair. There is rock-solid evidence that my hands are a complete mess when it comes to objects that require delicate care.

I get an idea. Bling! It's not a very good one, but I hope it'll do.

With a swift movement, I tug down the other band that holds her other braid together.

Her hair cascades past her shoulders in a shiny waterfall. It's wavy, just the right in-between in the lines of straight and curly. Her black tresses compliment the color scheme of Rikkaidai's drab uniform. It accentuates her glowing eyes, and blushing cheeks. A quote I've read from a book said, "Love makes a woman beautiful". I had laughed at the supreme helping of flattery and cheesiness, but I guess it's true. Maybe Chiyo isn't beautiful like a cosmetics' model or like Yoshioka Yui, but she still is. In the way you see trees filled with green leaves, upon a green field, that is beautiful. So not kidding. This is the first time I've ever thought or said so much cheesy things in a day.

"You look gorgeous, baby. Let's go," I tug her towards the sounds of tennis balls hitting upon the courts. I like the sound they make: pok pok pok pok...

"Are you sure?" She reaches up and musses her hair. Now she'll spoil it. I grip both her hands into my bigger one.

"STOP WORRYING, CHIYO. It's not like you're ugly."

That stuffs her mouth perfectly.

I found ourselves standing on a miniature hill, overlooking the wide tennis courts. There are five courts in total, and tall green crisscrossed wires snake around the green poles, a safety net to prevent the tennis balls from shooting off the court. People in yellow jerseys scamper around, picking up balls or chasing after them. As I look closer, I notice that only one person is sitting on the floor, inactively watching the players or freshmen round up their games. Pink hair. Yup, that's him alright.

When I glance at Chiyo, the red flags of color on her cheeks has been confirmed. She's spotted him too. The strange thing is, she doesn't even try to wave. I nudge her impatiently. I don't want to have come here merely for checking guys out. I want her to go out and interact with them. She can't possibly be shy. Why, the way she jostles and laughs around the other guys in our class is proof of her verbal prowess. She's good at talking, at keeping the conversation going while maintaining a casual air. The guys, I also know, like to converse with her. Only, I don't get why the girls don't meet her much. I seem to be the sole person to engage in girl talk with Chiyo.

Chiyo glares at me. "What?" She rubs the sore part.

"Do something," I nod towards the head of pink hair knowingly. "Say something." To further emphasize my point, I push her down the hill. She grinds her heels on the sandy path, and tries to escape my grip. No. My grip is strong. Too strong. I hope I don't bruise her shoulders. I discreetly study the back of her neck: it's turning fiery tomato red now.

"Stop blushing, Chiyo, or that Marui will be scared off." I mutter under my breath. We are within hearing distance of the tennis courts, and if we talked too loud, other people might hear us.

"That's not in my area of control! Stop pushing!" She whispers back fiercely. The gravel crunches into a million pieces beneath her shoes.

I smile, and shake my head, even though she can't see. She's so innocent. I've not met a girl who could really blush in front of a guy for a long time now, and I've presumed that girls like that didn't exist anymore; girls nowadays, modern ones with pink nail polish and dyed-delinquent-hair, treated boys like equals. They were hardcore feminists. Good to know that Chiyo is not like that.

We are approaching the fences now. The pink-haired guy takes a swig from his water bottle – very sloppily; I can see water droplets dripping down his chin, and I can't even differentiate them from sweat – and looks up, involuntarily. His purple eyes – I hadn't noticed that before – sharpens, and widens. He stands up, walking towards us. Chiyo's shoulders tremble under my hand. I squeeze them with assurance.

He's… chewing something in his mouth. "Hey you! Hi!" He's addressing me, not Chiyo. A green, transparent bubble expands and covers his whole mouth, and it pops. Expand, pop. Chew. "You're the one who barged into the men's!" His eyes are dancing with mirth. I wince. Does he has to bring that up before Chiyo? Now she'll misunderstand me. I'll lose one more friend.

Chew. Pop. I finally nod. Chiyo struggles once more, and extricates herself from me. I don't dare to look at her. I know the glare of hatred when I see it, and I don't want to face it, just yet. My objective isn't completed.

"Do me a favor and don't talk about it to anyone else. This is Kimura Chiyo, my tour guide and current best friend. Have you guys met before?" The role of matchmaker is always tiring. I watch their expressions. I think I detect a flicker of interest in the delinquent's eyes, but it's fleeting. Chiyo, well… it's obvious. She's twitter pated.

"Maybe… I've seen you before?" Marui tests cautiously. He's looking at her, good, but she isn't meeting his gaze. I pinch her without him noticing. She has the good sport to not groan or scold me right in front of her beloved. Her skin is taut. She feels like rock. I massaged her shoulders, hoping that I'm giving her enough comfort. I lean forward. "Valentine's Day flowers…" I chant softly in her ear.

She breaks out of her stupor abruptly. "Yes, yes. Of course. You're the star genius of Rikkaidai's boys' tennis team! Everyone in this school knows YOU." The shine in her eyes are back.

I must say, she's good at buttering people up in first meetings. Marui already has a thousand-watt smile on his face. It glares (his smile). Chiyo isn't fazed… yet. He starts speaking, and my interest in matchmaking fades away. I quietly leave them talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another taller guy wearing a cap making his way steadfastly over to the duo. I believe in Chiyo's outstanding talking skills, so I leave the troubles over to her. My job here is done.

Chiyo and Marui… Marui and Chiyo… sounds okay. I hope they get together. Even if Chiyo leaves me to spend time with him, I won't mind too terribly.

The school bell rings in the distance.

…

My phone chirps to life as I close the door to my room. It's a message from 'ChiyoTheChatterbox'. That was fast.

CHIYO: Hi! Testing, testing… is this my dear friend Kuramoto Kaeda's number? La-la-la…

'Dear friend' has a tad bit of sarcasm in it. It sounds maliciously wrong, and the only person I know to use words like that is myself. And maybe Chiyo, now that I've read her message. A sinking thought strikes me; she wouldn't be thinking of confronting me about the boys' restroom matter, would she?

I hesitate, before my fingers move to type out a reply.

KAEDA: I am.

It's too short… Oh, she's replying.

CHIYO: Good to know! I want to ask you a question!

Oh, God.

CHIYO: What Marui said this afternoon, about you visiting the boys' restroom. What is that ABOUT?

I shiver uncontrollably. My hunch is correct. Now I only have to answer her questions with the utmost precision. One wrong step, and my friendship – though I sincerely hope it isn't as weak as I think it be – might fragment into bits. I contemplate my phone screen mutely.

KAEDA: Thanks to a clueless guy I met, I got the wrong directions, and wounded up at the restroom. That's all.

CHIYO: Really? Are you sure?

KAEDA: Cross my heart, and swear to die.

CHIYO: Alright then… Sorry for doubting you. Marui just kept laughing when he explained the whole thing to me.

KAEDA: I see. Do you mind chatting for another day? I have to study for the quiz – total bluff – tomorrow. I have a lot to catch up on!

CHIYO: Okay! See you tomorrow!

And that, our thread has been severed.

Day 1 at Rikkaidai was a day of mixed feelings and reciprocated boy-girl emotions. Good for you, Chiyo. Bad for me, who was interrogated and deemed innocent, and bluffed – BLUFFED – my new friend. I must seem like a geek to her now.

Summer's still a long way from today. Huh…


End file.
